S O . T H I S . I S
Summary: Childhood friends, turned husband and wife, reflect on what has kept them together.
Timeline: (AU) Future fic, with mentions from First Year onward
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
So this is...
At age eleven, you fell in love with her laugh.
It was the first memory you ever created of the place you would soon call home because it was the only true home you had ever known in all your years of life. You had taken a seat with the perpetually perplexed-looking red-haired boy called Ron Weasley, who immediately introduced you to the marvels of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
You heard the sound long before the scatter of light footsteps across carpet, the swish of long hair against thick black wool, the skidding of shoes to stop at your doorframe. Perhaps you are particularly sensitive to laughter because you heard it so rarely at the Dursley's and relish every time you experience it, but in this noise you detected an admonishing sort of tone lined with mothering assurance.
And when she appeared slightly short of breath before your compartment, you knew you were right.
You watched her giggle after pointing out the smudge of dirt on Ron's face, and he had blushed furiously to wipe it off. Her nose wrinkled delicately as her mouth widened into a dazzling smile; but catching herself, she sniffed pointedly and simply stared with bemusement sparkling in her eyes.
From that moment on, you were determined to make her laugh as often as you could.
You realized soon afterwards that she had more types of laughter than you could possibly count. You and Ron had once begun creating a list just to mortify her - and how it had worked - but as a result she would run out of the room to prevent you two from discussing her idiosyncrasy.
You never teased her again after that.
There was the embarrassed giggle she offered as you gaped at her during the Yule Ball. You weren't the only one surprised by her transfiguration that night - Ron held the honors of the person most stunned - but you know that the accompanying blush was real. She felt no haughtiness with her slender arm linked through that of Viktor Krum.
You had never seen her so beautiful.
There was the surprising snicker that sprang from her throat when Snape admonished his Draco Malfoy for a job badly done in Potions class. As Draco squirmed under the professor's sneering, squinty-eyed glare, she would bite her lip and kick you and Ron under the table, not because she no longer found it ironic but because she understood the wrath of Snape and pitied anyone who had to suffer it.
You always wished you were as kind of a person as she was.
There was the hoot of glee that threw its stranglehold around you when the Gryffindors won the championship last year. You had seen her grip Hagrid's arm in anticipation, and witnessed the joy diffuse across her face the instant your hand curled around the twitching golden ball. She was the first to run up to you after the game, while your body was still aching and perspiration stuck to your clothes; but she didn't seem to mind, calling out congratulations and triumph.
You certainly did not mind that.
There was the chortle of doubt when Professor Trelawney announced to the class that she saw a future for the two of you in her tealeaves. But it was short-lived as she brought her eyes up to yours, saw something in them that you couldn't yet describe at that time, and slightly turned her head to one side as she stared at you in amazement. You barely heard Professor Trelawney sweep from your table with a satisfied tsk.
You quieted your heart, fearing she would be able to hear its erratic tempo.
There was the nervous flutter that seeped into your mouth the first time you kissed, after sitting silently beside her for hours by the lake. You had helped her to her feet, just draped your cloak around her shivering shoulders and insisted you weren't cold although your fingers were turning an uncommon shade of blue. She had raised a brow, smiled with gentle exasperation, and cupped your hands with her smaller ones. Finding them shaking, you only had a second to breathe before she leaned forward to touch her lips to yours.
You could only blink at her afterwards, observing the bright flush of red seep into her cheeks and to her ears as she swallowed down the awkwardness.
You weren't so confused when you returned her kiss, arms reaching beneath the cloak to wrap around her waist. Her thin blouse did nothing to conceal the heat that emanated from her skin, and the warmth rushed straight to your head and erupted in a shower of burning sparks that reached your toes.
You had never seen her so carefree, and you relished it.
There was the breathless relief she sighed into your neck when you told her you loved her the night before your graduation from Hogwarts. The scent of peaches and chrysanthemum drowned you in its crest as she pressed her body against you, laughing that you were a fool for waiting so long but nonetheless, she loved you.
She loves you. She loves you. She loves you.
There was the uninhibited happiness she cried on your wedding night, when all the guests had gone and presents were thrown across the floor. It was finally the two of you alone, not yet out of your formal attire, with your bare feet wrapped in the folds of her gown and her head resting against your heart. And when you touched her there, or kissed her like this, or whispered words like so, her rich laughter lost its strength until it was nothing more than a thrilled gasp.
Even now, her laughter can still destroy you, and you allow yourself to be ruined time and time again.
-end-
AN:The companion piece Something Called Love will be posted soon.